


Breathing Through Corrupted Lungs

by SpiderButler



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark Swan, Happy Ending, Non-dark hook, Post Dark Swan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 20:50:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5105294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiderButler/pseuds/SpiderButler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has removed the darkness, but he can't remove the memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathing Through Corrupted Lungs

**Author's Note:**

> Title based on lyrics from Youth by Daughter. This was originally written after 5x04, so some details may not 100% match up with the story.
> 
> I'm considering writing this Fic (or a Fic based in the same universe/time period) from other character's POVs so feel free to request :)

Waking up is just plain weird. After endless nights without sleep, Emma had gotten used to the weariness which had settled in her bones and the mental exhaustion that had shown that Emma, the _real_ Emma, although buried deep, deep down, was still there, that she was still human. 

She doesn’t know how long she’s slept for, doesn’t remember getting to her bed, but that is where she finds herself. She shifts, reaching, out of habit, for the picture on her nightstand- her family, with their arms wrapped around each other, grinning at the camera. She stops, frozen by shock. Her skin is pale, but there is a pink flush to it that shows the blood rushing beneath it. The shimmer of dark magic is gone, leaving no trace behind. Slowly, she lifts a slightly shaking hand to her head. Her hair flows freely in soft blonde waves. The coarse white hair is gone too, no longer pulled taut against her skull. She’s up in seconds, out of the bed and in front of the mirror. She stares at her reflection, the face looking back at her shocked, eyes swimming with disbelief. It’s a face Emma wasn’t sure she would ever see again, not the real version of it. As the Dark One she had been able to replicate it, present herself however she wanted to. (She shivers, remembering an afternoon on the Jolly Roger, dressed in a pink dress. “I loved you.”) But this… this _is_ her. This is _real_. She closes her eyes, and remembers. 

 _“Are you sure, Emma?” Merlin’s voice is gentle, kind, as always. “This must be your choice, and yours alone.”_

_Emma thinks about Henry, how he recoiled from her the moment he saw her on the docks, thinks about Killian, how he looked at her with only pain in his eyes. She thinks about the fear on the faces of Storybrooke’s residents. Not one of them trusted her. No one believed Emma could have fought the darkness, no one helped. They failed her. No, this wasn’t for them. This was for her. This was to stop the voices in her head, whispering to her, overlapping until she forgot what silence sounded like._

_“I’m sure.” Emma says, not leaving any place for argument. The people around her, her parents, Hook, Henry, Regina, and the others (she stopped caring who long ago) all let out a collective breath._

_Merlin nods, his eyes never straying from Emma’s, and places a hand over her heart. Suddenly there is a rushing noise in Emma’s ears that sounds faintly like screams, and her spine curls, her back arches, and she sees the darkness pouring out of her, curling in the air like smoke. Her body aches, the pain becoming stronger and stronger until the screams are her own, and she falls to her knees, her eyes unable to stay open._

_And then it stops._

_It is silent and Emma collapses, managing to catch herself on her hands, before she fully hits the floor. Her body is weak, exhausted, and it takes all her energy to push herself back onto her feet, to stand in front of Merlin. His kind smile is back, soft and sincere. As always. “You made the right choice, Emma.”_

_She just nods, unable to speak, not sure what she would say if she could. Someone says her name from behind her, and she can’t, so she doesn’t. Instead she uses what she learnt as the Dark One and she leaves. The smoke, she realizes somewhere in her subconscious, is purely white, the gray of the darkness gone. She goes to the one place she feels safe- the one place she’s been able to call home._

That is how she finds herself in her house, her own house. She listens, listens for the presence of another person, but she is completely alone. She hasn’t been alone in a very long time. Her family have never been inside this house, Killian only once, and there are powerful protection spells around it anyway. But Rumplestiltskin’s voice was always there, always encouraging the darkness. It seemed so easy. 

Emma banishes the thought quickly, still wary of the darkness. She will not let it rear its head again.

* * *

The first hurdle Emma faces, is her new lack of belonging. It begs the question, who is she? 

Emma Swan was the Sherriff of Storybrooke, daughter and sister and mother and lover. She drank hot cocoa with cinnamon and played video games with her son. Emma Swan was the Savior. 

But she hasn’t spoken to her parents in a very long time, her brother, a newborn baby, has probably already forgotten her. Her son recoiled from her the moment she reached out for him (she would always reach out for him), would much rather stay with his other mother, and Killian can barely look at her. And, yeah, Regina is the Savior now. 

So who is Emma Swan? 

All she can think about is the fear, the fear in the eyes of the people who used to love her, and that is enough to send her back into her own personal darkness, one that existed long before a dagger and magic, long before she even came to Storybrooke. This is the kind of darkness which has her curled up in her bed, under the sheets, crying until they’re soaked. The kind of darkness which she suffers alone. Always alone.

* * *

It’s ridiculous really. She runs out of milk. Her plan to hide from the world forever is ruined by _milk_. 

She found, soon after she escaped the darkness, that her need to eat returned, along with sleep. So she had been living off what was in her kitchen (she’d stocked it in the very beginning, when she thought there was a possibility of Killian and Henry joining her), but that supply had slowly been diminishing, and now milk, her final real source of sustenance, has run out, and she finds that she has no way to replace it. Not eating meant she never learnt how to conjure food from thin air, and so she must buy it. From a shop. Outside. She’s filled with a perverse urge to laugh at the fear that consumes her. 

She waits, waits until the sun has set and Storybrooke has been plunged into darkness before she steps outside. Practically, it was a dumb idea- the shops will all close for the night in under an hour, but the less people she has to see, the less people who see _her_ , the better. She chooses the darkest route she can, knows which streets will be the empty. Her hair hangs limply around her face, and she covers it with her hood, trying to blend in with the shadows. Trying to become one. 

At one point she hears footsteps and she flattens herself into a doorway. She doesn’t raise her head, but she hears the person come around the corner and walk along the sidewalk on the other side of the road. They don’t stop, not noticing Emma, and she waits until they turn the corner at the other end of the street before she peals herself away from the wall and continues her journey. 

She’s almost at her destination when her world comes tumbling down. She turns the corner, and walks straight into something solid and hard and _warm_. She mutters a quick sorry, hoping they don’t recognize her voice, and moves to pass them. She’s taken two steps, when they speak. 

“Emma?” The question is tentative and Emma hears the fear in it. Of course there is fear, _of course_ , but a small part of her hoped _he_ of all people would understand. Would accept. She considers walking away, but she knows he would follow her, so she turns, raising her eyes to meet his. 

“Hook.” She doesn’t miss the flash of pain at the name, the lack of his real name, and the part of Emma that is angry cheers internally. She doesn’t offer him anymore, and it is silent for a moment while he seems to collect his thoughts, his eyes dancing over her face, her hair, her body. 

“Where are you going?” The question breaks the silence, and Emma almost laughs, though there is nothing funny about the situation. 

“I’m shopping.” She says, and wow, is this how they’re reunited? The words “ _I lov **ed** you_ ” echo in her mind, and it’s enough to make the need to run rear up again. He hasn’t answered her, and she turns away from him, starts walking again. His footsteps follow hers and he’s next to her in a moment. 

“Let me accompany you.” It not a demand or a request, the words uncertain, but Emma’s exhausted and her whole body is vibrating with their proximity and she isn’t ready for this, for the inevitable fight that will only come faster if she declines. So she nods, and they walk together. Neither tries to speak, and the only sound around them is their boots on the concrete. Once they arrive outside the store, Emma pauses and Killian seems to understand her hesitation (“ _you’re something of an open book_ ”). 

“I’ll go in.” She wants to protest, doesn’t want his sympathy, doesn’t want him to see her as weak, but she really, really isn’t ready, his sudden appearance proving this, and so she simply nods again. He steps inside the door, and she melts back into the shadows in case anyone else should chose to take their evening stroll down that street. 

She closes her eyes as she presses her body against the brick of the wall. Her chest is tight and it feels as if something has wrapped itself around her lungs. She forces herself to breathe, counting the seconds of every inhale and exhale, and whilst it does nothing to calm her, she clings on to the tiny semblance of control it gives her with all her strength. 

Killian steps out a little later, plastic bags hanging from his hook, and his eyes scan the street for Emma. She sees the panic flash across them before she steps out from the shadows again, and wonders if it was due to her presence or the lack of it (a small voice in her mind reminds her of the cold looks, the fact that ‘he got on just fine without you’). He begins to walk back the way they came, still holding her bags (“ _I’m always a gentleman_ ”), and all Emma can do is fall into step beside him. He doesn’t try to speak again, and Emma isn’t sure she can talk, so she doesn’t either. 

It’s only when they arrive back at her house that she realizes she could have just used magic to get to the shop and back- that she never would have had to see him. She doesn’t know what to do with that thought, and so she pushes it down. They stand on the street in silence, and Emma is about to turn away, make her escape, when Killian speaks, the words blurted as if he wasn’t quite ready for this either. For some reason that relaxes Emma a little, gives her the confidence to meet his eyes. 

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” It’s a stupid question, both of them know it. 

 _I was thinking of having dinner with my inner demons, and then maybe curling up in bed and crying myself to sleep. I might drink myself into a stupor first, but we’ll have to see._ She doesn’t respond out loud, but Killian seems to understand and adds to his question. “Would you like to have dinner?” He hesitates and then continues. “Not just with me- your parents, and Henry, and Regina and Robin maybe, if you like…” 

“Because God forbid people think you might still be with me.” The sharp words are out of her mouth before she’s even processed them herself, but Killian’s words, his clear lack of desire to be with her alone has touched an extremely sensitive nerve, and again the word _loved_ echoes around her brain. He opens his mouth to speak, but she doesn’t let him. “I’ll be there.” She really needs to escape now, doesn’t want to hear whatever Killian has to say about them, so she grabs the bags from him and quickly disappears. She reappears in her hallway, and she looks out the window immediately. Killian is stood staring at where she was standing only a second ago, his lips parted as if he were about to speak. After a moment he shakes his head and walks away. He doesn’t look back, and that hurts Emma more than she cares to admit. 

She barely sleeps that night, constantly waking from dreams that quickly turn to nightmares, all centered around dinner with her family.

* * *

 Emma spends the entirety of the day panicking. Firstly, she never actually arranged anything with Killian, so she has no plan. And, even more ridiculously, she almost has a mental breakdown over clothes. It feels wrong to put on the clothes of the old Emma Swan (besides, most of them are still at the loft), but she can’t exactly go kitted out like the Dark One. Eventually she settles for something in between. She wears a pair of black leggings and a dark green sweater, a pair of black ( _practically heeled_ ) boots on her feet. She pulls her hair back into a ponytail and spends much too long staring at herself in the mirror. 

When the clock next to her bed reads _6:30_ , she accepts that she can’t put this off anymore. Then comes the problem of getting to the loft. She doesn’t like the idea of driving something as conspicuous as her bug through the streets. Using magic seems much too Dark One and she doesn’t think it would be a good idea to appear in her parent’s kitchen without any warning- neither of them is ready for that. The only other option is walking, but that gives her much too much time to change her mind and turn around. 

She settles for using magic to get her to the building, but she walks up the stairs to their door. She thinks about the other times she’s had to knock on the door of this apartment- before the curse was broken, when she had nowhere else to go, and then after the second curse when Killian brought her back. She’s drawn out of her thoughts by voices on the other side of the door. 

“I’m worried.” Henry. “Gold barely survived having the darkness leave him. I know she had Merlin take it out of her, but we have no idea what she’s going to be like. What if it’s permanently affected her?” 

“I know.” Regina. “We’ll all have to be careful tonight. And remember, if anything happens, I _will_ protect you.” 

Emma feels as though she’s been punched in the stomach. As if she would ever, _could ever_ , harm Henry. She knocks on the door then, not wanting to hear Henry’s response. The loft goes silent, and then the door is opening. Emma takes a deep breath, swallowing down the panic. Henry stands on the other side of the door. Emma yearns to wrap her arms around him, but she remembers how he pulled his hand away from hers that day on the docks, and she keeps her arms to herself. 

“Mom.” 

“Henry.” Her voice breaks a little and she clears her throat. Henry steps out of the way, and she enters the loft. Regina and Robin are sat on the sofa near the door. Both her parents are in the kitchen. Killian sits at the table, a glass in hand. All eyes are on her, and she stands awkwardly just inside the doorway. 

The choking silence is broken by Neal, his cry piercing the air. Her mother’s head snaps towards his cot at the same time Emma’s does. She watches as Mary Margaret sweeps the baby up in her arms, cooing to him gently, a soft smile on her lips. A twist of pain curls in Emma’s stomach at the scene, and she tears her eyes away. Henry is sat between Regina and Robin, and Emma’s really beginning to regret coming here. 

It’s her father who breaks the silence this time, as he exits the kitchen, walking towards her. “Would you like a drink, Emma?” It’s more formal than the way they used to speak to each other (more careful) but its also the most casual anyone’s been with Emma in a while, and she forces herself to (outwardly) relax. 

“Just water, please.” David nods, and heads back to the kitchen, grabbing a glass. Out of the corner of her eye, Emma notices Killian pouring himself another large glass of rum. 

Emma has nothing to say, and there is nothing anyone can really say to her. It feels wrong to talk about the Storybrooke gossip, and Emma really can’t deal with talking about being the Dark One yet. 

“I’ve reached level 30, mom.” Henry says, attracting her attention, and she smiles for the first time in longer than she wants to think about. It’s small, but Henry’s eyes seem to light up a little at the sight, and somewhere, hope lights a tiny little flame. She’s still angry (and hurt and sad and scared), but it’s enough for now. 

“That’s awesome, kid.” 

Henry begins to chat about his game, and it gets a little easier for Emma to sit (in the armchair of course- she won’t risk Regina’s wrath if she gets too close to _her son_ ) and nod and offer a word in the right places. Robin joins in, and Emma thinks that one day she would like to get to know this man better, because he’s the only one who doesn’t seem to have let her down yet. 

When dinner is ready, Emma is so glad to see that it is not tacos, or grilled cheese, because that is so something her mother would do. She sits between Henry and Killian and the former is forcibly relaxed whilst the latter is so tense Emma thinks he might snap, and Emma wonders if his mind is on her words from the night before. She forces herself to listen to whatever her father is saying about the dwarves, and tries to ignore the man who is pointedly not looking at her.

She doesn’t speak, lets the conversation wash over her, and she can feel the people around her slowly becoming tenser, but she isn’t ready to pretend that the whole turning into the worst villain possible thing didn’t happen, so she lets them. 

This continues until her father snaps. He stands, hands braced on the table, body hunched over. 

“This is ridiculous.” Panic grips Emma at the grim determination in his voice. “We can’t just pretend that we’re one big happy family.” 

“David-” Mary Margaret places a hand on her husband’s arm. 

“No. We don’t have to talk about it now, Emma, I understand why you wouldn’t want to. But we also can’t pretend that everything is perfectly fine and normal.” 

Emma nods- she doesn’t want to talk, but she too hates this forced fun atmosphere. Her father leaves the table, collapsing on a sofa across the loft. Her mother follows, and slowly the rest of the family trails after them. She and Killian are left at the table, and she stands, uncomfortable. He does the same, and again she wonders what he’s thinking. She doesn’t want to join her family, but she has to escape the tension radiating off him. 

“Look, Emma,” her mother begins. “If you want to talk we’re here. Say whatever you need to.” 

“I really, really don’t.” Emma says, all her pain coming up in full force- this is not some small fight that can be talked out over hot chocolate. 

“Oh come on, Swan. You at least owe us _something_.” Regina rolls her eyes. 

“Owe you?” Emma spits, every word packed with venom. “I _owe_ you nothing, _especially_ you.” Her hand twitches (curling into a fist) but it’s clearly all the incentive Regina needs to pull Henry behind her, already prepared for a fight. Emma’s stomach drops at the same time she’s filled with anger, and she wants to cry and punch something at the same time, so she does the next best thing. She runs. 

Seconds later she’s in her bedroom in her own house, and there are already tears on her face. Her phone rings- she hasn’t used it in months, she’s surprised its even turned on- but she doesn’t bother trying to find it. It stops ringing for a few seconds, but then it starts again, and she summons it, turning it off straight away. She really, really shouldn’t have gone. 

Her darkness consumes her once again as she curls up in bed, vowing to stay there until she withers and dies. Alone. Again.

* * *

It’s her father who appears at her door the next day, much to Emma’s surprise. Her mother is nowhere to be seen (the pair are usually inseparable) and she doesn’t know whether to be grateful or worried. 

“Hello.” He doesn’t offer anything more, and she thinks he’s letting her choose. A large part of her wants to slam the door in his face, but there is a small part of her that has missed her family, and that’s what leads her to stepping out of the way and letting him inside. He enters, looking around at the dark interior of the house. She remains silent, and walks to the kitchen, knowing he’ll follow. She sits down at the table, and he follows suit, sitting opposite her. “We need to talk.” He must see the panic on Emma’s face, because he holds his hands up in a surrender gesture, his words hurried. “Not about what happened, that is up to you. We will talk about it, but _when_ is completely your choice.” 

Emma nods, relaxing back into her seat. The easy cockiness of the Dark One is difficult to shake, and she consciously shifts, uncrossing her arms and placing them on the table. David clears his throat before speaking again. “We need to talk about what happens now.” 

“Now?” Her voice is quiet, voice hoarse from disuse and tears. 

“I know your mother and the others would like to talk everything out, settle it all now, but I also know that sometimes its not quite that easy. However, we can’t keep having nights like yesterday. We need to work out how we move forwards.” 

“It’s _not_ that easy. You saw what happened last night- mom doesn’t understand, Regina’s sure I’ll hurt Henry every time I move, Henry’s scared of me and Killian won’t even look at me.” 

“I know. I’m not saying it will be easy. But I’m not giving up on you.” 

Emma doesn’t reply to that, doesn’t know what to say. It’s a little bit late (the words a little _too_ familiar), her heart well and truly crushed, but it aches for the family she once knew and so she refrains from saying something biting. “I’ll handle Regina- Henry is your son too, and he’s old enough to make his own choices. He, um, requested I give this to you.” Her father places an old walkie-talkie on the table, and it’s almost enough to bring her to tears. “You’re not evil, Emma. And we’re your family. We love you.” 

The bitterness in Emma’s heart flares up and she sits up straighter, the faint traces of Dark One behavior settling in her bones. “You love me, and yet somehow we still managed to get _here._ ” 

David remains unfazed, and a strange longing fills Emma, to be a little girl again, this time wrapped up in her father’s arms, protected from the evils of the world. But she shakes it off- this man has only been her father for a few years- she shaped herself, taught herself. “We made mistakes. You did too, Emma. And things are difficult, but I truly believe that we can make them right again.” 

Emma doesn’t speak, just watches her father. He in turn, maintains the eye contact, the first to not shy away from her gaze. “I trust you, Emma. I know that the Savior, _my daughter_ , is still in there somewhere.” 

Emma’s shoulders slump a little, but she still doesn’t speak. Her father waits for a moment, and then rises from his seat. “Henry is having dinner at ours tonight, if you want to come. If not, we’ll understand.” Emma nods, and he leaves the room. She hears the front door slam a few moments later, and slumps back in her seat properly. She has no intention of going tonight, not after last night. She doesn’t know how long she sits there, but the light in the kitchen begins to dim, and the shadows grow longer. It’s almost dark when the walkie-talkie crackles to life. 

“Mom?” 

 She almost sends it flying off the table at the speed she grabs for it. “Henry.” 

There’s a pause and then “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

She goes. She goes and her mother doesn’t make her talk and her father doesn’t mention their earlier discussion and Emma lets herself relax. Henry even manages to pull a laugh from her, and the light in his eyes is so strong that she feels some of it fill her chest as well. They’re all sat on the sofa, Henry chattering away happily, when there’s a knock on the door. All eyes turn to it, and Emma considers making herself scarce- Regina has no idea she’s with Henry, and a weird sense of déjà vu fills her. David opens the door, and Killian stands in the hallway. His eyes fall on Emma immediately, and they hover there for a moment, before flickering back to David. 

“Hook.” Her father’s eyes meet hers, and Emma nods. This was going to happen at some point. Might as well meet her fate now. “Come on in.” 

The man nods his thanks, stepping inside the loft, but he lingers near the door. “I was wondering, actually, if I might be able to borrow your daughter for a little while.” The question is aimed at her father, but his eyes are on hers, and she knows that it is really directed at her. David turns to her as well, and her eyes briefly flit to his, and then back to Killian’s. She nods, and rises from her seat. She looks at her mother and her son. “I’ll be back later.” 

She turns to the man in leather, who simply pulls the front door open again. She grabs her jacket, sliding it on as she exits after him. They walk down the stairs in silence, and Emma drifts to put a safe amount of space between them as they exit the building. They head in the direction of the docks, and Emma hopes he’s not planning to take her to the Jolly Roger, because there are too many memories there that she really can’t face tonight. She doesn’t know what they are anymore, so many words twisting and churning in her mind, both hers and his. 

 _I love you._

_I loved you._

_This isn’t me._

_Don’t you know, Emma, it’s you._

_The man I love._

Killian pulls her out of her thoughts, clearing his throat. “Sorry to disturb your evening, Swan.” 

 _Really?_ “It’s fine.” 

“I think we need to speak about what happened.” Emma waits, lets him continue. “I’ve seen the darkness. I’ve felt it.” Emma opens her mouth, but he doesn’t stop. “I know I wasn’t the Dark One, and I know it was my fault, but I also know that that person, the woman you were, is not who you really are.” 

Emma nods. Wistfulness and pain swirls within her again, remembering the ease of their relationship, and how different it all is now. All she can remember is the rejection she felt when he said the words on the Jolly Roger, so surely, yet unable to meet her eyes. How her need to run flared up like it hadn’t since the first curse had broken. 

“Emma.” Her name cuts through the silence, and she halts, realizing that he’s stopped walking. She turns to look at him. She’s careful not to let any of the turmoil swimming inside her show on her face. “Emma,” his voice is quieter now. “You know how I feel about you. The woman who stood in front of me in the captains quarters of my ship and asked if I loved her _was not you_.” He doesn’t say the precious three words, but Emma prefers it that way- they can’t fix it all in one conversation, but this seems to be a step in the right direction. 

He takes her hand in his, the warmth of his palm comforting in a way words can never be. It’s the first affection she’s had since she returned to Storybrooke with glimmering skin and hair the color of snow. He doesn’t let go as they begin to walk. Neither of them mentions it, but it holds them closer together, and Emma still has a lot to say, but for now, this is enough. 

* * *

It takes longer for her to face Regina. She’s the last person Emma needs to reconcile with, and also the most difficult. The others were overly enthusiastic about welcoming her with open arms, but Emma knows that the Queen will be a little less inviting. She knocks on the door of house number 108, and waits patiently. She refuses to remember the last time she was here, when Henry couldn’t understand what she had done. The door opens moments later, and the dark haired woman shows surprise, before she carefully contains it. 

“Miss Swan.” 

“Regina.” She keeps her tone neutral (careful). 

“Henry’s not here.” The woman’s tone matches hers. 

“I’m not here to see Henry.” The other woman doesn’t respond, so Emma continues. “Can we talk?” 

Regina hesitates for a moment, then nods, and steps out the way so Emma can enter the house. They sit in Regina’s office, and Emma remembers the first time she was here, the first time Henry brought her to Storybrooke, and Regina sat her down with a big glass of apple cider. 

When Regina shows no sign of speaking, Emma takes a breath. “So, I know that this is difficult. I was the Dark One.” Those words catch in her throat in a way they never did when the darkness was coursing through her veins. “But you need to know that I would never ever hurt Henry.” 

“I’m aware he’s been seeing you, Emma.” Her name sounds weird and a little strained, but it’s better than being stuck with ‘Miss Swan’ all over again. “He’s never been very subtle. In fact the only times he’s managed to get away with things under my nose, is when I’ve been distracted by dealing with you.” Emma suppresses the anger that begins to rise up. She knows that it’s true, but Henry hadn’t needed to be subtle after the curse was broken and before the darkness took Emma. 

“Good. I would also like to make it clear that I sacrificed myself for the town, not for the lure of darkness. I did not choose to become the Dark One, and I will choose to talk about it when I want to.” Regina hesitates, but she nods. Emma takes a deep breath. “If there is anything you wish to say or ask, now is the time.” There exchange has been short, but Emma senses she won’t be getting much out of Regina anyway. 

Regina doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Emma is about to get up, when she utters a quiet few words. “Thank you. Welcome back… Emma.” 

Emma accepts with a nod, not quite ready to be friendly with this woman, but the atmosphere is (more) relaxed, and Emma’s beginning to think that maybe she can conquer this after all. She meets Henry at the gate, and he smiles when he sees her. “Were you talking to mom?” 

Emma nods, and Henry wraps his arms around her waist. She feels his grin against her shoulder, and can’t stop the curve of her lips that follows. 

That night she meets Killian at the docks, and they sit in silence again, passing his rum between them. She tries not to remember that last time they were like this, Emma was swearing that she would never go dark, but the irony of the situation is hard to miss. When it reaches the early hours of the morning, he walks her home, his hand wrapped around hers. This becomes a routine, and the fighting happens a few nights in. Emma doesn’t plan it, doesn’t think, but it bubbles to the surface, and the words are spilling out of her before she knows what’s happening. 

“We can’t keep pretending that things are the way they were.” 

Killian hesitates, taking a long swig of rum to fill the pause. “Aye, I suppose that is true.” 

“You gave up on me.” Emma’s tone is biting. “You did the exact thing you swore never to do.” 

Killian turns to face her more fully, putting the rum down in the space between their bodies. “You’re wrong. I never gave up on you. I always believed the Emma I knew was still in there.” 

“I _was_ the Emma you knew! The darkness didn’t replace me, it emphasized the parts of me I kept hidden. God, if anything it forced us to ‘take the next step’." The last words are sarcastic, and Emma feels the weight on her shoulders lifting as she speaks, letting herself say whatever comes to mind. “You saw parts of me you didn’t like, parts _I_ didn’t like, and you ran.” 

“I never ran from you, Swan. It was never a case of not wanting to see you, be with you. We wanted different things at that time- you didn’t want what we had had before, you wanted fast and hard and I was not prepared to give you that. That was the only way our relationship effected my actions- everything else I did was to combat the darkness.” 

“You _knew_ my darkness.” Emma’s words are fast and terse now. “You knew my demons, the ones I held before any dagger. You knew how people had left me, you knew I needed a little more support than most people to prove your intentions. But you left me too, let me believe that you could never truly see me the way you used to.” 

“You needed to hear that, Emma. You needed to know that you couldn’t have everything, have the darkness and have me and your family- you needed a reason to fight.” 

“You were my reason and you destroyed it. If you had already given up, why shouldn’t I?” Emma’s voice cracks and tears are slipping down her cheeks. Killian pulls her into his chest, the rum bottle being knocked to the floor, but it’s the first thing that’s felt truly like life before the darkness, and Emma curls closer to him and holds on tight. They’re not finished fighting, but they’ve said enough for now.

* * *

It takes her months to sleep in the loft again, and Henry begs her, saying it will be like ‘old times’. Whilst Emma doesn’t think it will ever quite be like ‘old times’, she can’t deny the comfort that surrounds her when she curls up in her own bed. She keeps her own house though. It’s her place and it’s where she’s safe. Henry even stays the night after a few weeks (Emma needed space from the loft and Henry was not prepared to lose her presence again). One night, Henry and Killian both stay and when they sit down to breakfast in the morning it is not entirely unpleasant. Killian slept in his own bed (while they’re making progress, they’re in no way ready for _that_ ) but it feels a little like family, and a little piece of Emma’s shattered heart reattaches itself. 

* * *

The next week she finally gathers her family in her own house. She pointedly ignores her mother (the only member not to have seen the inside of the house yet)’s looks, and even offers drinks and food, feeling like a normal human being again. The gathering starts off uncomfortable (Emma half wants to stand up and introduce herself as if this was a rehab group), but with a hand squeeze from Henry and a reassuring look from her father, she kicks the dam down herself and lets everything flood out. She screams and cries and they let her, and by the end there are tears on many faces, but they’re speaking and there is a distinct lack of tension when it's over. Emma thinks she can understand her families’ choices and she even explains why she broke Henry’s heart, even though her son insists he understands (he’s so forgiving Emma sometimes wonders if he can actually be _her_ son). She needs to explain that she only did it as a last resort- they needed to free Merlin so they could save Emma and everyone she threatened (everyone she’d ever met). She truly believed once Violet had her heart back, she would reconcile with Henry and all would be well. 

That night, Emma doesn’t sleep. She sits in her house listening to Killian and Henry’s snores (both had insisted on staying) and lets the last tendrils of the darkness free for the last time. When the sun rises she steps outside, walks aimlessly and by the time she gets back to the house (before either of her boys have woken up) the sun seems a little brighter, and the world a little lighter.


End file.
